Teeth
by StArBarD
Summary: A Mormor drabble. Warnings for brief descriptions of gore. Further warnings for brief descriptions of 80's pop music.


With his eyes closed the thrumming beat washed over his body, tickling his muscles and making his limbs jerk in time with the funky twist of the synthesized jam.

Luckily he knew his flat so well he could maneuver with his eyes shut, otherwise he would have surely stubbed his toe kicking out his lovely leather shoes.

He smoothed a hand down his chest, flattening his tie in a sensual wave that led into a sudden power fist. He stuck out his bum and wriggled down the hallway, taking every advantage of being alone.

The empowering lyrics and rejuvenating melody made him feel wondrous and free. He was an independent, striking young dancing king and he wasn't afraid to bust a few moves when the siren song of the 80's called his name.

He grooved over the carpet, sliding like a piece of butter on a hot pan, rocking back and forth like a boat being tossed about in a storm and making facial expressions like nothing anyone had ever seen before. Vaguely happy grins, swinging into a vigorous thrust and faintly frightening pouts when his shoulders shook.

Left. Right. Left right left and POSE!

Jim spun around, finger accusingly aimed at heaven, one knee bent at an angle that threw his hip out sassily. Toes pointed.

Then the music finished with a sparkling Pow-pow. He rocked his hips with a powerful two move thrust and moonwalked into the next song.

As he glided effortlessly into the sitting room he collided with something hard and firm. It was hard to tell what it might have been with his eyes shut tight, but the mischievous little bum pinch he received instantly murdered that mystery before he even had to wonder.

"Se-bash-tiaaaaan!" he squealed, ripping the music from his ears. "You're supposed to knock first!"

"I did." He replied, patting his boss diminutively on the top of his head. Jim soured into a gentle pout, which earned him a peck on the forehead.

"Don't be like that," Sebastian soothed, "I got you a little present from my last job."

Jim immediately perked up, standing on his toes to look directly into his eyes. Large, brown puppy eyes glistened into Sebastian's face as he waited with bated breath for his gift, like a child on Christmas.

"Hold out your hand."

Immediately Jim thrust his cupped palms into Sebastian's chest, nearly demanding that whatever he was hiding. He'd better cough it up soon. Jim wasn't much for suspense.

Sebastian carefully deposited two white minerals into his boss's hand where they clinked together like pearls.

"Teeth?" Jim asked.

"Molars," Sebastian clarified. "To make those cufflinks you've always talked about."

Jim keened with delight, and partly with surprise at how his sniper, who always looked supremely bored whenever he talked about his own perverse taste in fashion, somehow remembered his grisly idea for attention grabbing jewelry.

"I take it the hit went well then?" he asked after planting a grateful kiss on Sebastian's jaw (the only place he could reach that was even remotely near his mouth without having to stand on his toes).

"Totally unrecognizable. Dental, shattered. Fingers, gone. Toes, vamoose! Face…need I go on?"

Jim held the teeth to his current cuffs, imagining just how he would look once he'd had the teeth properly fitted. He paused and gave a sudden, wanton moan accompanied by a shudder.

"Oh Seb," he gasped, "I just love it when you talk gore to me."

And with a malicious grin and a wink he perched himself on the settee, flopping into a comfortable lounging position that practically invited a friend. Funk still hummed from the dangling earbuds.

He looked oddly like someone who was waiting for their portrait to be painted, lounging in full display for an artist to observe, admire and immortalize. He played with the molars between his fingers idly, looking up at Sebastian with a smug, _come hither_ stare.

And that was just the way Sebastian wanted to remember him. Frozen, perfect, zany genius sprawled across the couch in his mind. Pleased with an unexpected present and plying with hopes for another. Grimly satisfied with a violent job completely done.

Because the future had a nasty way of ruining some things and making other things somehow much more precious. The memory of that day became like a diamond, bright, glittery and ironically cold while Jim himself became ashes.

A fire-blasted corpse with all the fat and all of the marrow burnt away until there is naught but bone left.

And then they burnt the bone.

Funnily enough, the only things to survive the cremation were some small bone shards.

And some teeth.


End file.
